Just Another Weasley
by Nora May French
Summary: Ron, after being attacked by a Death Eater, gets stranded in America.
1. Hospital

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters from either "General Hospital" or _Harry Potter, _they are the respective property of their owners. No copyright infringement is intended, no profit is being made from this work of fiction.

A/N: AU

* * *

Ron Weasley had no idea how he wound up in a Muggle hospital halfway across the world. One minute he was scurrying to catch up to Ginny and his mother as they were wending their way through a shipyard, and the next minute, he was waking up in a blindingly white room with strange tubes sticking out of him every which way. There was a persistent beeping noise which confounded him and made his head twinge with pain.

Confused, he scrabbled at the tubes, struggling to free himself of their grasp. It wasn't until one of the hospital staff walked in to check out the high-pitched alarm he'd inadvertently set off, that he realized he was in some sort of hospital. In a panic, he fell off the bed and crawled on the cold linoleum floor until he found a corner far away from the door and the approaching doctors. He pulled his knees up to his chest and wound his arms tight around his legs. Whimpering in fear, he buried his head between his knees.

"Please don't hurt me," he whispered repeatedly. "Please don't hurt me. Don't hur…t me. D…don't h…hu…rt me. P…pl..please d…d…do…n't hurt me… " An unclear memory, distorted and dark at the edges came to the fore and yet he couldn't understand it. It was like large chunks of the memory were missing. He remembered running and then falling. No, being pushed.

He fought off the nurse, a slight woman with dark hair, who approached him. Scrunching further into the corner until his back hurt with the effort; he pushed her reaching hands away, his repeated mantra grew in pitch and took on a frantic edge to it that frightened her. She backed away slightly and looked to the others standing in the room with her for help.

Dr. Patrick Drake watched as Nurse Persephone Matthews attempted to calm the panicky teen who'd been brought to General Hospital a few hours ago by Jason Morgan. Apparently he'd found him, shivering and disoriented at the edge of the pier.

He'd been called in to check on the boy's head injury and had walked into a room awash with doctors and nurses and a clearly distraught patient who had backed himself into a corner. The new nurse was making a valiant, yet failed attempt to capture the boy's flailing arms and an orderly had been called in to administer a mild sedative.

Stepping up beside the nurse, he caught a glimpse of the boy's red hair amidst the din and heard the boy's terrified mantra. From what he could see and hear the boy was not in a right frame of mind. That could mean that he had suffered severe brain trauma, or it could mean that he was simply confused and frightened.

"Nurse, what's going on?"

"I'm not sure, the alarms went off, and when I got here, he'd already pulled out all of the IV tubes and was crouched in the corner. We've been trying to calm him, but nothing has worked. I called for help and, well, you're all caught up now," came her flustered reply.

She backed away from the frantic child and was seriously considering pursuing a new occupation. This situation had definitely been far out of her comfort zone. She had liked her rotation working with the neonatal unit and the geriatrics rotation hadn't been too bad either, but this situation and the emergency room in general was far too intense for her. She was exhausted and completely emotionally drained and she still had four hours left on her shift. She honestly did not know how she was going to make it through the next four hours. Nurse Johnson was already on her case as it was, after this failure she was bound to be even lower on the bristly head nurse's approval scale.

"I…I tried talking to him," she said defensively when Dr. Drake looked up from the boy who'd gone still, save for his reiterated intonation. His arms were wrapped around his drawn up knees once again, his head resting atop them. "I…I tried to get him to stop," her voice cracked, "to calm him down, but he just, he, he wouldn't."

Seeing what she mistakenly thought was disapproval in the doctor's eyes, she turned and fled the room, emotional and physical exhaustion having taken their toll on her. Before she made it around the corner in the corridor, she collided with what felt like a brick wall only to be caught up in strong arms before she cold fall flat on her ass.

"Are you okay Miss?"

Embarrassed and weary, Persephone turned a bright shade of pink and tried to disentangle herself from the muscular arms of her 'rescuer' for lack of a better word. 'Would be hallway assassin' just didn't seem fair, especially as it was technically she who had been fleeing a patient's room and had collided with him.

"Fine," she muttered, angry with herself for her overreaction to the whole situation, "I'm fine," she reassured the man who had finally released his hold on her.

Now that she could do so, she took a step back and looked at the walking brick wall, nearly fainting as she realized that she had inadvertently run into the infamous Jason Morgan. She'd heard all about the alleged hit man who worked for the equally alleged mob boss, Michael 'Sonny' Corinthos, when she had first moved to Port Charles to begin her nursing internship, but she had no idea he was so drop-dead gorgeous. His eyes were mesmerizing pools of sapphire blue and currently she was being hypnotized by them, there was no other way to explain her present state of immobility and inability to formulate coherent thought.

"Uh…?" She eloquently replied when she realized that he had asked her a question she hadn't even heard, in spite of the fact that her eyes had been steadfast upon his rather mouthwatering lips.

"What happened?" He gestured in the direction of the room she'd just escaped. "Is the kid okay?"

The concern in his voice caused her heart to flutter_. Could this obviously kindhearted man really be a coldblooded killer?_

"I'm not sure," she replied hesitantly, ashamed of how much out of her element she had felt in that room not five minutes before. "He just freaked out and I couldn't get him to calm down. Dr. Drake is in there with him now."

"Thank you, Miss?" Jason's eyes were on her, a question in them and she felt faint."

"Miss Matthews," she supplied breathlessly. "But you can call me Persephone," she offered, blushing and feeling foolish.

"Thank you Miss Matthews." Jason smiled his gratitude and she nodded, quickly turning and walking to the nurse's station before she could embarrass herself even further.

Jason shook his head and headed in the direction of the room Nurse Matthews had vacated. He could hear Patrick's voice and stood just outside the door, listening.

"My name is Dr. Drake," he spoke quietly. "What's your name?"

Jason peered around the door, slightly alarmed at what he saw. The red-haired kid he'd brought to the hospital earlier was sitting on the floor, his back to a corner, knees drawn up protectively. His blue eyes were eyeing the doctor who was standing across from him with wariness and distrust.

"Pl…ease don't hurt me," the kid's voice was hoarse as he pleaded with the doctor.

"Is everything alright?" Jason walked into the room and carefully approached the two. The kid's eyes darted to him and he read relief in them.

"I've got it handled Jason," Patrick replied, not taking his eyes off his patient.

"I see," Jason said without sarcasm. He knelt next to the frightened kid, so that they were at eyelevel. "You're safe now; no one is going to hurt you. I've brought you to a hospital," he explained.

The kid's eyes bore into his, questioning and searching for truth. They were bright with unshed tears and Jason's heart clenched. The kid reminded him of Michael and Spinelli rolled up into one.

"I…" the kid gulped, looking at a point over Jason's shoulder where Dr. Drake stood. "I've never been to hospital before," he whispered, tucking his chin behind his knees.

"That's okay," Jason assured him, smiling, "I don't much like hospitals myself."

"Are," the kid bit his bottom lip, "is," he drew a deep breath in, "are they going to hurt me?" He asked in a single breath.

"No," Jason promised, "they're going to help you."

"I…" the kid raised his head, "I…there was all this stuff attached to me when I woke up, what's it all for?"

"Most of it is to monitor things like your heart rate and brainwaves. Some of it is to make sure that you are getting enough nutrients and being kept hydrated," Dr. Drake answered, pointing out the different machines and IVs as he spoke.

Ron peered around Jason as Dr. Drake spoke, looking at everything in turn. It was overwhelming and he was confused. Where were his parents and Ginny? Where were Fred and George? They had all been on vacation together and here he was, alone in a Muggle hospital. His father would be ecstatic, but he was just frightened.

"Can you tell me your name?" Dr. Drake was now crouched next to Jason and looking him in the eye.

"Uh, sure," he tucked his chin into his knees again, "I'm Ronald Bilius Weasley, but you can call me Ron."

"Okay Ron." Dr. Drake smiled and it eased some of his fear. "I need to examine you, make sure that the bump on your head didn't cause any permanent damage," he explained carefully. Ron felt the back of his head experimentally, wincing when his fingers came into contact with a large knot. "Think you can get up? Jason," he looked at the man next to him for confirmation and Ron saw him nod, "and I will help you onto the hospital bed. Okay?"

Ron nodded. His heart felt as though it were going to thud right through his chest.


	2. Obliviate

**Disclaimer:** See initial chapter.

**A/N:** AU

* * *

"Obliviate!" the Death Eater hissed.

His wand was aimed directly between Ron Weasley's blue eyes. The eyes widened almost comically in terror until they glazed over with memory loss and confusion. The Death Eater grinned maniacally, barking out a humorless laugh as he pushed the redheaded boy away from him. He turned his back and apparated as the boy fell to the ground.

Ron was terrified and confused. He felt an odd pricking at the back of his neck as he looked at the man standing in front of him. A protest died on his lips as the man pushed him. His arms and legs were like jelly, and before he knew it, he was falling, hitting his head hard on a wooden crate before crumpling to the ground.

He watched the man who'd pushed him disappear in mid-air and wondered what he'd done to offend him, and what it was that he was supposed to remember. It was just at the edge of his memory, on the tip of his tongue, and he struggled to bring it to the fore, but for the life of him couldn't recall anything from the last ten minutes. He grew too tired, and his head hurt too much for him to continue thinking, so he laid back against the wooden crate and closed his eyes.

Hours later he sat up and rubbed the back of his pounding head, looking around, trying to figure out where he was and what had happened to him. He had a vague memory of following his family through a maze of crates scattered about a wharf somewhere in the Americas, but no idea of how he'd been separated from them. Surely they'd come back for him. They were his family after all.

He picked himself up off the wooden slats and stood on shaky legs. Water lapped at the edge of the dock and Ron glanced at the murky ocean. He was on his own and darkness was descending. He needed to find shelter, quickly.

"Merlin," he murmured, holding his aching head in his hands as he fell to his knees.

Nausea overtook him, bile burning the back of his throat and his nose. Unable to control his gag reflex, he expelled the acidic vomit over the edge of the dock, watching, mesmerized as it was picked up and swirled by the waves.

"Hey kid, you okay?"

A strong, firm hand landed on his shoulder and Ron flinched, skirting back from the edge of the dock as he tried to escape the hold that the stranger had on him. The man's blue eyes, much like his own, peered into his and Ron ceased his attempted escape.

"Who…" Ron asked weakly, unable to formulate the rest of his sentence.

"I'd better get you to the hospital," the man's voice was calm and soothing. His hand steadying as he helped Ron to his feet.

"You here alone?" he inquired and Ron started to shake his head only to frown and nod.

He didn't know if he was alone or not, he realized. He quickly scanned the area around him, looking for a sign of Ginny, one of the twins, his parents, or even Percy, but none of them were there. He was on his own and at the mercy of a stranger.

He took a few steps forward and then the ground seemed to dip and the sky tilted, and he was falling. He heard the stranger say, "I've got you," before he lost his battle to stay awake and sunk into oblivion.

* * *

Avery couldn't believe how easy it was for him to carry out his Lord's command to, "...take the youngest Weasley boy out of the picture..." so that he couldn't return to Hogwarts in the next term. At first, he'd lamented at the assignment his Lord had given him, wondering how he'd be able to accomplish the task as the Weasleys kept their home very well hidden, and the children never seemed to go anywhere on their own.

Time was running out when opportunity knocked in the form of the Weasleys being sent, courtesy of Mr. Weasley's workplace - something about some sort of magical disturbance involving Muggles in the Americas - to the United States of America. All Avery had to do was follow them and wait, and then the youngest boy, Ronald (such an unoriginal name) strayed from the pack.

He cast a few spells to confuse the boy, giving him the sense that he was following his family, when in reality, he was following images of them which Avery had cast. It was a brilliant plan, and it worked like a charm.

The Dark Lord, for some reason Avery could not fathom, had insisted that the Weasley boy be left alive, and, in his words, "...relatively unharmed."

By the time he'd apparated, Avery had made certain that the Weasley boy was, not only alive, but that he was also suitably harmed. It wouldn't be good for him to return to his Dark Lord without having at least done something to hurt the best friend of his Lord's enemy.

The boy should wake with a splendid headache, Avery thought rather happily. He hoped that what he'd done would satisfy the Dark Lord so that he wouldn't have to suffer his wrath, but rather revel in the Dark Lord's pleasure. He shuddered at the very thought of what the Dark Lord would do to him should he not be pleased.

* * *

Jason caught the boy before he collapsed on the wooden dock and lifted him in his arms. The hospital was only a short distance away, and it was clear to him that the child needed medical care. He looked around for any sign that the boy was not alone, and couldn't see anyone else there, which struck him as odd. Though the boy wasn't a little kid, Jason didn't think the docks were a usual place for teenagers to hang out alone.

"Just what the hell happened to you?" he asked aloud when his hand brushed against a lump on the back of the boy's head. There was dried blood on the injury, which made the kid's red hair brittle to touch.

As soon as he set foot in the hospital, he sought out Epiphany, knowing that she would take good care of the boy, whoever he was. He didn't really trust anyone else other than Elizabeth Webber who didn't appear to be at the hospital.

"What happened?" Epiphany asked, her face a mask of concern.

"I don't know, I found him down by the docks. He was conscious, and then he just collapsed," Jason said.

"And he didn't regain consciousness on the way to the hospital?" she asked.

"No," Jason said, not liking the way the nurse pursed her lips and shook her head as she took the boy's vitals. "Is he going to be okay?"

Epiphany patted him on the arm and then pointed toward the chairs in the waiting area.

"Thank you for getting him to us, now let us do our work. Go have a seat, I'll give you an update as soon as I can. You know who he is?" Everything was said so quickly that it took Jason a few seconds to realize he'd been asked a direct question.

He shook his head. "I don't know, and there was no one else there."

"Hmm," Epiphany said thoughtfully, and then she snapped her fingers at an orderly who wheeled the boy away.

Not sure what else to do, Jason slumped down in a chair, wondering just what he'd gotten himself into now.


	3. Questions

**Disclaimer**: See initial chapter.

**A/N**: AU

**Warning**: Mention of torture.

* * *

Ron felt foolish. He didn't understand a word that the Muggles were saying as the doctor examined his head, and he still didn't remember what had happened to him. The Muggle, Jason, though, seemed able to read his mind, which was a little unsettling.

When it looked like the doctor was about to perform what must've been the hundredth exam since Ron had woken, Jason said, "Enough, let the boy rest."

"Jason," the doctor sounded exasperated.

It was difficult for Ron to remember the doctor's name, what with the way his head was aching. Ron thought it was something like Dragon or Drake or...whatever it was, it had reminded Ron of Draco. And, he'd found it hard to trust him, though the doctor had given Ron no cause not to.

"I need to make sure that this isn't more than just a concussion. He's suffered a pretty severe knock to the head and he was unconscious for over twenty-four hours," Doctor Drake finished, and Ron blanched at the news that he'd been out of it for so long.

"He's exhausted," Jason said. "You poking and prodding him isn't helping matters."

"Jason, I'm going to need you to step out of the room so that I can continue the examination of my patient," the doctor said, and Ron panicked.

He didn't want Jason to leave. Even though he didn't know the man, Jason somehow made Ron feel safe.

Jason moved closer to the hospital bed, and Ron sighed in relief.

"I'm not going anywhere," Jason said, and Ron wondered if maybe he was supposed to know this man after all. Maybe he'd hit his head a little harder than he'd thought.

"Unless you are a relative ..." the doctor started to say.

"He's my nephew," Jason interrupted, shooting Ron a look that said, 'play along.'

It was a look that Hermione had given him plenty of times when they were following Harry into one dangerous situation or another. Fred and George had often given him a similar look when they'd wanted to pull something over on their mother. It was a look that Ron was very familiar with.

Ron nodded and instantly regretted the movement as it only served to make his headache worse.

"He's my uncle," Ron said.

He had no idea why he was trusting this man, a stranger, but in the absence of his family (and just where were they anyway?) he had to turn to someone. He just hoped that he wasn't going to regret trusting the man. That he hadn't just put himself at the mercy of a supporter of you-know-who.

Ron had no desire to die a painful death or be tortured for information about Harry Potter.

Dr. Drake shook his head, and looked between the both of them in disbelief, but he threw up his hands and said, "Fine, have it your way."

Ron didn't relax until the doctor left the room, leaving him alone with Jason.

"Thanks," he said.

"No problem," Jason said. "I could see that you'd had enough, but the doctors are going to have to come back. Head injuries are nothing to take lightly."

"I don't even know how it happened," Ron said.

His head hurt even more when he tried to think past the darkness between when he'd been following the twins, and then being found by Jason. It was as though his memory had been erased, like he'd been obliviated.

But, if that was the case, then what did that mean for his family? Had they been taken or killed by Death Eaters? If they hadn't, did that mean that they thought he was dead, or had they purposefully left him behind?

Ron didn't think that his parents would do that to him, but he refused to believe the alternative, that they could be dead or kidnapped, or hurting. He'd rather have been abandoned by his family than that.

"You don't remember anything?" Jason asked.

"Nothing," Ron said, and he let out a relieved sigh when Jason turned off the lights. It helped his head feel better, and kept the nausea at bay.

"Thank you," Ron said, closing his eyes and lying back against his pillow. He was exhausted in spite of just having woken up a couple of hours ago.

"Sleep," Jason said, and Ron did just that, hoping that, when he woke up, things would make sense to him, or he'd find that all of this had just been some strange dream.

* * *

The Dark Lord hissed in pleasure, the corner of his mouth twisting upward in a gruesome smile as he viewed Avery's memories. He was pleased. Even so, when he pulled out of Avery's memories, Voldemort hit him with a crucio that made the wizard crumple to the ground and writhe at his feet. It only lasted for a few seconds, but Voldemort knew that, for Avery, it would have felt much longer than that.

When Voldemort released Avery from the curse, the wizard's muscles continued to twitch and spasm, and the Dark Lord watched in amusement as the wizard struggled to pull himself onto his knees. Avery bowed his head and kissed the hem of Voldemort's robes, his hands shaking, apologies flowing rapidly from his mouth.

Voldemort placed a hand on top of the wizard's head, causing Avery to look up at him. His eyes were filled with unshed tears. He was in pain, and that made Voldemort very happy.

"Sorry, my lord, I can go back and..."

Voldemort grasped Avery by the chin, and ignored his servant's flinch.

"Relax, Avery, I was pleased with what I saw, however," Voldemort dug his fingernails into Avery's chin, delighting at the sharp intake of breath that Avery made, and the dribble of blood that ran down his chin, "I wonder why you didn't remove all of the youngest Weasley boy's memories when you had the chance."

Avery blanched at Voldemorts words, and quickly apologized. Unmerciful, only because he hadn't been shown mercy, Voldemort took a step back, and and struck his servant with another crucio, and watched him suffer.

When he was finished punishing his servant, Voldemort let the wizard snivel and kiss his robes again. Twining his fingers through Avery's hair, Voldemort pulled the wizard's head up when he'd heard enough apologies and expressions of adoration to stroke his ego for the time being.

"Avery," Voldemort said, when his servant's eyes lost some of the glossiness that came after torture.

Avery's eyes locked on Voldemort's. "Yes, Master."

"I'd like you to go back and finish what you started with Mr. Weasley," Voldemort said.

A confused look crossed his servant's features and Voldemort tamped down on his impatience, knowing that some of his followers weren't the brightest. Hitting Avery with another crucio would do no good. He closed his eyes, and drew in a deep breath, smelling Avery's fear.

"Master?" Avery's voice quavered.

Voldemort opened his eyes and graced Avery with a smile, even as he drew the man's head back at a painful angle. "I want you to obliviate every memory of family and friends that Mr. Weasley has. Leave him with nothing. I'll have Malfoy detain the Weasleys."

Avery swallowed - his Adam's apple undulating- and nodded. "Y-yes, Master," he said, and then Voldemort released the hold that he had on the man's head, and Avery crumpled sideways to the floor.

Voldemort wiped his hand off on his robes, and walked toward his throne. "Don't return until you've finished the task I've set."

"Yes, Master." Avery's voice was little more than a whisper, and he struggled to rise on arms that shook like they were palsied.

Happy that his enemy, Potter, and the Weasley's - a pure-blood family should not support and defend Muggles - would suffer a blow with the loss of the youngest Weasley boy, Voldemort called for Nagini to join him. The snake picked up on his delight, and hissed her own, wrapping her tail around his feet.

"What will you do, Potter, when you've lost all of your friends? Who will you rely on then?" Voldemort spoke in parseltongue, and Nagini bobbed her head in agreement.

* * *

Jason watched the boy sleep. True to his word, he stayed with Ron, sitting in the uncomfortable chair by the boy's bed. Ronald Bilius Weasley was a long and odd name for anyone to have, and Jason wondered where the kid's family was. He couldn't be more than fourteen or fifteen years old, and, from his accent, Jason could tell that Ron wasn't from around here.

Jason stretched his legs out before him, and pulled his cellphone out. If anyone could find this kid's family, it would be Spinelli. He fumbled around in his contacts list until he found the right number, and then he waited as the phone rang.

"Jackal PI, the Jackal at your service, no case is too ..."

"Spinelli, it's Jason, I need you to do something for me," Jason interrupted his friend.

"Stone Cold? Why are you calling the business line? You should have called my cell," Spinelli sounded perplexed, and hurt.

Jason rolled his eyes, and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Look, Spinelli, that's not important."

The truth was that Jason thought he had dialed Spinelli's cellphone. Problem was that he was all thumbs when it came to technology. Where Spinelli was an expert in all things computer-related, Jason was distinctly lacking.

"Of course, Stone Cold," Spinelli's voice was contrite, and all business.

Jason felt his stomach clench, because he hadn't wanted to hurt the younger man's feelings. He valued Spinelli, for more than just his expertise, but had a hard time communicating that in a way that Spinelli understood - with words and affection.

"Spinelli, I'm sorry," Jason apologized. "I need your help finding someone's family. His name is Ronald Bilius Weasley, and I found him unconscious on the docks. I think he'd been attacked, and he might still be in danger."

Jason hoped that Spinelli wouldn't ask him how to spell the boy's name, because he had no idea how to spell Bilius or Weasley. Ronald, he could manage.

"Do you know how old he is?" Spinelli asked, and Jason could hear the younger man's fingers flying across the keyboard.

"Fourteen, maybe fifteen?" Jason guessed. "I'm not sure. He woke up once, and the doctors were badgering him. I said that I was his uncle."

"Are you going to bring him back to the penthouse?" The clacking on the other end of the phone paused.

Jason sighed and ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head. "I don't know. I'm kind of hoping that you can locate his family before it comes down to that. I think he's got at least another night at the hospital."

"The Jackal will do his best, Stone Cold," Spinelli said, and the clacking resumed. "Anything else?"

"No, Spinelli, I'll call if there's anything more."

Spinelli hung up first, and Jason stared at his phone for a good few seconds before returning it to his pocket. He was tired. He glanced at the boy, happy to see that Ron was still soundly asleep, the leads to the various monitors still attached to him.

Closing his eyes, Jason decided to get a little rest himself. He had no idea what Spinelli's research would uncover, and he wanted to be prepared for anything that could possibly be headed his way.

There was something off about all of this, and Jason couldn't quite put his finger on what it was, he just knew that his gut was telling him that not everything was as it seemed, and he was determined to get to the bottom of it.

* * *

Avery scowled at his fellow Death Eaters, he didn't like the way they were looking at him - like he was stupid. It wasn't his, or their, place to question the Dark Lord, or the great wizard's ways, and it certainly wasn't their place to judge him.

The Dark Lord had done as he'd seen fit, and he'd been right to subject Avery to the crucio curse for not thinking things through the way that he should have. He chastised himself for not thinking of taking away the youngest Weasley boy's memories to begin with.

It was a brilliant plan, but surely the Dark Lord couldn't fault him too much for not thinking of it on his own. He wasn't as smart as the Dark Lord, not nearly as powerful. Without the Dark Lord, Avery was nothing. He knew it, and hoped that his Master knew that as well.

As Avery prepared to apparate, he caught movement out of the corner of his eye - dark, billowing robes.

Avery scowled, and turned to face the other wizard. "Snape," he sighed. "What are you doing here?"

Snape merely raised an eyebrow, and sneered. "Doing the Dark Lord's bidding, same as yourself. He's sending me along to make sure that you don't botch things up this time around."

"I didn't botch things up," Avery said. "I did just as he asked."

"Then why, pray tell, is he sending you back?" Snape crossed his arms over his chest.

Once upon a time, they'd been friends, of a sort. Now, though, Avery almost hated his fellow Death Eater. Snape held greater favor with the Dark Lord, and yet, there was talk that he was a traitor, working for the light as a double-spy. Avery didn't know where Snape's loyalties fell, and was unnerved that the Dark Lord had sent the wizard to check up on him.

Avery squared his jaw, and turned to apparate. He'd be damned if he was going to make it easy for his former schoolmate to show him up, whether the Dark Lord ordered Snape along or not.

Just as he spun to apparate, Snape grabbed him by the forearm, and Avery cursed. He was mid-apparation, and couldn't stop now. If he did, he'd splinch the both of them.

Avery concentrated on his destination, picturing in perfect detail the docks where he'd left Ronald Weasley lying unconscious, bleeding from a head wound. If things were going his way, the wizard child would still be there. If not...he didn't want to even think about the repercussions, knowing that Snape would report his failure to the Dark Lord.

* * *

Please review, let me know if you want to read more. Mahalo


End file.
